From Dulles to Denver
by Pereybere
Summary: Booth thinks things through on the flight from Dulles to Denver.


From Dulles to Denver

Disclaimer: Fox Network and some dude called Hart Hanson. I don't own them. I only dream that these things are real.

Summary: Booth thinks things through on the flight from Dulles to Denver.

Rating: Er, T. Probably a little overrated but, better than under, huh?

Spoilers: Skull in the Desert.

A/N: I like scene injection. Sometimes, I think it makes a sorry more real. Hope you enjoy.

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He couldn't sleep.

Despite the lull of his Ipod, his mind reeled and the classic rock had no effect on his senses. Normally he'd have fallen asleep well over an hour ago. _Normally_ he'd be so bored, and, having read through the case twice already, he'd have nothing else to do, but sleep.

But today he had no case. Today he'd jumped on a plane on Temperance Brennan's whim, dropping everything he had planned, including his first hot date in months. And instead of relaxing into his music, he was analyzing why he was even on the damn plane!

Turning towards the window, he pressed his head against the reinforced plastic, closing his eyes and recalling the guilty pleasure he experienced when Brennan said things like 'get Federal on his ass'. He'd smiled. He had been glad she wasn't there because he would have had to pretend to be cool and confident inside of giddy inside.

Damn her.

He'd cancelled a date! Why? To plunder blindly in the desert? And when had he stated to care about Angela and the other squints? When he started working with them, he would have laughed at them had they suggested he give up a date, with a blonde, for this.

Brennan infuriated him. She talked about nothing but science and rational things that made him wonder who had sucked all the joy out of her life. She poured over bones for fourteen hours a day and never complained of headache. She wasn't even human.

When she finally did glance up, it was only to tell him his methods were unsound, to pick into his private life and worse, his past. What in God's name had convinced him it was a good idea to join her?

He browsed through the songs he'd accumulated, lingering over _Hot Blooded_ for moment too long. There'd always been something great about the song. But since hearing it with Bones, he'd felt something else when the distinctive intro pierced his brain. He felt his own blood course through his veins and his heart began to beat a little faster.

Temperance Brennan.

Maybe it was her cool persona that attracted him. Maybe it was because she maintained this annoying façade of perfect professionalism that he desperately wanted to worm his way underneath. Only God knew, he'd dreamt about what she was like outside of her job, often enough. He had imagined she was quite passionate. Not sexually.

Well, yes. Sexually, too.

But in everything, Brennan was passionate. About her job. About her books.

He believed she was passionate when she stepped out of her lab coat, too. Maybe she'd find things funny that ordinarily she wouldn't. Maybe she'd laugh at his jokes and accept him for being silly, sometimes. Maybe she'd talk about things other than anthropology and science. He truly believed she would.

"Excuse me, sir?" He turned, the stewardess smiled, her lips red and her hair blonde. She fluttered her lashes a little, tilted her hips. The pose was that of a woman who was flirting. He blinked. "Would you like refreshments, sir?" Booth glanced at the trolley, then back to the woman, She was pouting a little, now. He felt a flutter of amusement. Amusement! Imagine! A hot woman was flirting and all he could think of was how Brennan would never succumb to such desperate attempts.

"No thank you," he said, smiling tightly. She looked a little disappointed.

"Can I get you anything else?" He frowned, his eyebrows knitting. Why couldn't he be attracted to her? Why, when she flashed cleavage, was he still thinking about Brennan? God damn it!

"No," he repeated. "Thank you."

She moved on, casting him a weary glance. He supposed there were very few heterosexual men that turned her down. Even if she only threw the odd innuendo their way. He felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. A tiny waist, pert breasts, lovely smile and blonde hair. And he felt nothing! He needed medical attention, immediately!

Knocking his head against the window, he sighed. She'd gotten under his skin and into his life. She'd impacted him in ways he didn't understand and he didn't think he would understand unless he admitted things that frightened him. He hadn't cancelled his date because Brennan needed him out there. He cancelled because of _her_. It was that simple.

Images of her would have ate at him all night, had he went out with another woman. The way she shook her head in disgust or the way she clicked her tongue when he did something that irritated her. Or even the way her eyes clouded over with compassion each time she felt herself drawn into an investigation, drawn into the lives of those who had lost someone.

Outside, the plane tilted and he saw how perfect everything looked. Up here he couldn't see the horrible inflictions of society. He couldn't see how people were murdered. It was majestic in its beauty and he wished he could have had Brennan there, so he could tell her what he felt when he looked out the window.

She would have rolled her eyes, anyway.

She would have told him it was irrational to believe, even for a minute, that life was perfect. Brennan would say he was fooling himself and that it was dangerous to fantasise about things that would never be real.

He wondered what she would say if she knew he fantasised about her. Would she mock him for that or would she be shocked. Speechless, even? The thought made him smile. A speechless Brennan.

Booth made a plan to tell her, when they went home, just what he thought of the world from above. He made a second note to tell her what he thought about when he thought about her – and how he cancelled his date because she called and because he didn't want to eat dinner with anyone else. She would shake her head, engross herself in a case report, but at least she'd know. And then he wouldn't have to turn down hot air stewardesses when the flaunted themselves at him. His mind would be clear.

Brennan would turn his advances down and he could get on with his life.

He took a piece of paper from his jacket and scrawled a mental note.

_Tell Bones everything_.

Then, tucking it back into his pocket, he slipped his earphones back in and turned _November Rain_ up as loud as it would go.

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I was thinking of writing 'From Denver to Dulles' in which Booth would carry through his plan. What do you think?


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